


When size doesn't matter

by Zauzat



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: F/M, Fem!Martin, Prompt Meme Fill, always a woman Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-30
Updated: 2012-09-30
Packaged: 2017-11-15 09:16:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/525691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zauzat/pseuds/Zauzat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt: fem!Martin has small breasts... and they are driving Douglas crazy because sometimes Martin doesn't wear a bra and Douglas can, of course, can see her nipples pressing against the fabric of her shirts and see them move and... And when Martin notices Douglas noticing, she takes it the wrong way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When size doesn't matter

"Good God, how much longer can she take?" Martin looked at her watch with exasperation and then stretched her arms out in front of her.

Go on, please, go on, thought Douglas, watching out of the corner of his eye. Martin sighed in frustration and then stretched her arms up over her head, arching her back. Yes! And... oh _yes_. Score one for Douglas. Small pert mounds pressed against the front of her white shirt, little nubs tenting the fabric. She wasn't wearing a bra.

Martin was, in Douglas's unvoiced opinion, distressingly fond of wearing a bra, workmanlike plain cotton ones from what he could make out. He didn't know why she bothered, there wasn't much there in need of support, and she did so improve her co-pilot's day when she didn't. Not that he was about to tell her that. He might be only too happy to tease her about a wide range of topics but even he knew where the line lay for inappropriate behaviour.

"She may be some time yet," replied Douglas, mostly because it gave him an excuse to turn to face her. She had her arms looped behind her chair now, leaving the sweet mounds still tantalisingly visible, rather than lost in the folds of her overlarge shirt as normal. "She's either arguing with the client over the cargo or the airport over the bill. Best not to get involved. Arthur, can you get me a coffee?" he called out. "Anything for you, Martin?"

"Just a glass of water, please Arthur," she called. "Any more coffee and I'll be staring at the ceiling at three in the morning."

Douglas carefully didn't think about what, if anything, would be draped over those sweet breasts at three in the morning. He was casting around for a game to keep them occupied when Arthur thrust his head into the flight deck. "Here you go chaps, coffee with everything for you, Douglas, and Skip, here's your glass of--- oh no! Skip! I'm so sorry."

Arthur stumbled as he turned to her, the glass tilted sharply and its contents poured out all over Martin's shirt. "Here, let me-- oh! ah..." 

Arthur began to dab at her top and then abruptly pulled back. Peering past him, Douglas could see why. The thin white fabric of her shirt had gone rather spectacularly transparent and yes, those tits were just as perfectly formed as Douglas had imagined them to be. Nice to know he was right, as always.

Given how red Arthur had gone and how wide his eyes were, Douglas suspected spectacularly ill-advised commentary was about to spill out of the steward's mouth. Not that Douglas didn't share the sentiments, but he knew better than to say them out loud. "Arthur, you've done enough damage. Just get back to the galley and let the adults sort this out." Douglas pushed a spluttering Arthur out of flight deck and locked the door behind him.

"Oh, he's such a clot," wailed Martin. "What am I going to do? I can't fly like this." She was patting frantically at the wet fabric, which simply had the effect of making it cling to her skin in ever more interesting ways. She had a lovely tummy too, Douglas noticed, nearly flat but with a gentle swell round the belly button. What he wouldn't give to see her in a properly tailored uniform instead of the slightly oversized clothes she always wore. He suspected she hoped the bigger size would make her seem more imposing but mostly it left her looking like a girl playing dress-up in her father's uniform.

"Douglas! What are you staring at?"

Bugger, he'd finally been caught but honestly, her nipples had hardened against the cool wet fabric, and he didn't see how any man with two eyes in his head could be expected not to stare. At least he wasn't actually offering to warm up the enticing little nubs with his mouth.

"Don't you dare say anything, I know, alright, you don't have to tell me." The distress in Martin's voice pulled his eyes up from her chest to her face. Her mouth was pinched and she looked as if she was about to cry.

"Tell you what?" he asked, confused.

"Dad told me often enough. Said I was so flat Mum might as well use my chest as an ironing board. And the kids at school. Useless little Martin. Doesn't have the knockers to be a girl or the balls to be a boy."

"Martin! I would never say such a thing. Or think it. Your breasts are quite lovely." He allowed himself another quick glance. Oh yes, utterly delightful. "Not every man admires melons."

He looked back at her face. He would not normally say anything so personal to a colleague, but the distress on her face reminded him that he was her friend as well as her co-pilot. "Look, just this one, let me tell you - and don't slap me for this - your tits are charming and I do notice every time you fly without a bra. Trust me, anything more than a handful is frankly a waste."

"You don't mean that," accused Martin. "I met Helena, remember?"

"Honesty Martin, I married _Helena_ , not her tits. She did indeed come with some large, luscious specimens but that's not why I loved her. I consider myself a connoisseur, deeply appreciative of the many delightful varieties of the female form. Plenty of men admire small breasts. You do know that the champagne coupe is supposed to have been modelled on the breast of Marie Antoinette?"

"There's small and then there's non-existent," muttered Martin unhappily. "You wouldn't get much champagne out of these."

Douglas allowed himself another look. "Given that high-class champagne should be savoured, not guzzled, they look to me like they'd provide just the right amount." He took a deep breath. This was rapidly getting too personal, given the tight quarters in which they had to work together. It was time to get them back on track as professional colleagues.

"Look Martin, I've got a spare white shirt in my flight bag. Old pilot's trick, you never know when turbulence is going to dump the coffee in all the wrong places. It'll be too big on you but good enough to get us back to Fitton. Here you go, put it on and - slightly to my regret - we'll get on with our day."

Martin took the shirt from him and then hesitated. Douglas twisted away from her in his chair. "Eyes screwed tightly shut, I promise. If I go out, then we'll have to deal with an apologetic Arthur which is probably even more stressful than just getting on with it."

"True. Okay."

Douglas did indeed keep his eyes firmly shut, although that didn't stop his imagination putting pictures to the soft rustles he could hear, her slim fingers undoing the buttons, the wet fabric peeling away from her skin...

"Douglas?" Martin asked hesitantly.

"Yes?"

"Do you really notice when I don't-- you know-- when I don't wear a bra?"

Douglas hesitated. Was it better to respect the sexual neutrally of their working relationship or to bolster her clearly fragile self confidence? What the hell, the riskier but more interesting choice had always been his preference in life. "Oh yes, not that I'm saying that it's blatant. If anything, those shirts you wear are frustratingly oversized. I have to watch rather carefully. And I do. The rare days when you don't wear a bra are always a delight for me. Today, that trip to Paris last month, when we went to Venice in March. I wish you'd do it more often."

"It's not that I really need to," said Martin hesitantly. "Just that they're-- umm-- sensitive. Not wearing one is-- distracting."

Douglas pressed the side of his head against his chair and counted backwards from ten in an effort to keep his voice neutral. "That is an advantage of small tits in my experience. They tend to be more-- responsive." Just how responsive? he wondered. To his touch, his breath, his tongue....

"Martin," he blurted out. "For the love of God, can you please get on with it. I'm a man of the world, but honestly-- sitting here with my eyes closed discussing how sensitive your breasts are, while knowing you are topless just a foot away from me is not doing anything for my composure. I'd never to anything do make you uncomfortable in your work environment, but right now this whole thing is making me uncomfortable in the trouser region, if you get my meaning."

"Oh. Um. Sorry, sorry..." There were a few moments of frantic rustling and then another long pause. "Okay, you can look now."

Douglas turned round. "What took you so lo-- Oh my lord!" Martin was sitting rigidly upright on the edge of her seat, her fists clenched in her lap, his white shirt hanging open off her narrow shoulders, framing a trim stomach and above it two tiny pert breasts, small rosy nipples crinkled into tight nubs and pale skin flushed with embarrassment.

"Do you really think they're attractive?" she asked, with that heart-breaking combination of defiance and insecurity that was so peculiarly her.

Douglas hesitated. He could see a dozen ways in which this moment could crumble into embarrassed humiliation, and one or two in which it might end very nicely for both of them. He glanced quickly at the door, just to confirm that he had locked it behind Arthur, and then he slid down onto the floor, on his knees. Looking up into her tensely drawn face, he said softly, "if you'll let me, I'll show you just how attractive I think they are." 

The long silence was rapidly sliding into acute discomfort, with Douglas beginning to wonder if there was any graceful way to back out of this, when it seemed to finally dawn on Martin that nothing further was going to happen unless she actually said yes.

"Okay." It was whispered so softly he could barely hear it, but along with the accompanying shaky nod, he decided it would do. He gently pushed her knees open and shuffled into the vee of her thighs, letting his hands run up the outside of her legs and settle on her hips, just below her waistband.

He took a moment to admire the milky skin, but Martin quickly tensed up even further under his scrutiny. "I'm sorry.... they're not...."

"Shhh," he told her, "close your eyes. Let me explore for a minute." He ran hands up the sides of her waist, noting how her breath hitched and she squirmed under his touch. Ticklish... What he wouldn't have given for a big mattress that he could bounce her onto and ruthlessly tickle her flanks until she was breathless with laughter and all the awful tension had drained away. Another time... if he was lucky.

He let his hands settle on the sides of her ribcage, feeling the rapid rhythm of her breathing, letting his thumbs cup the bottom of her sweet breasts. For a moment he closed his own eyes and tried to work out where he wanted to go from here. Up until now he'd really just been going with the flow, taking advantage of the delightful unfolding of opportunity. He was surprised by how strongly he wanted her to be reassured by this experience, by how much he wanted to get to reassure her this way time and again.

He had no doubt the full _Douglas Richardson Seduction Experience_ would simply overwhelm her, seeming like a mocking tease rather than something that was simply her due. He needed to tread very carefully. He slid his hands up until her breasts were cupped in his palms, her nipples pressing tantalisingly against his skin. "See? The fit is perfect. They might as well have been made for me."

He shifted his hands so that the two tight nubs protruded in the crook of his thumbs, like small red rosebuds coyly hiding in the foliage, and then pressed down very gently. He was far too experienced a lover to squeeze and twist at tits as if they were lumps of dough. Instead, leaning forward, he slid his tongue over the tip of one nipple. Martin immediately, instinctively, arched into his touch, her shaky moan feeding straight into his own arousal.

He teased her with gentle flicks of his tongue, first one nipple then the other. "May I share with you a charming fact about breasts? They swell with arousal, increasing in size by as much as twenty-five percent. Something which is far easier to notice with lovely small ones like yours." He palpitated them very gently, gratified to feel them firming under his touch. He kissed the hard breastbone that lay between the small islands of softness and then twisted his head to run the faint stubble of his cheek and the lush abundance of his hair against the delicate skin. He could feel fine trembles running up her torso.

"So how sensitive are yours, exactly? Enough that you can come from touching them alone?" He glanced up to see Martin had her face covered with both her hands.

"Close, but not quite," she mumbled. "It doesn't take much more, though."

"Interesting. We'll have to investigate. So when we're on layover, have you ever lain in the room next to mine, and run your own hands over these two little charmers?"

"Ummm.... well, yes.... it helps me to get to sleep sometimes." Her lower lip was caught in her teeth, in that way she did just before she was about to reveal something very personal. "And not just... well... you remember Poznan?"

"Martin!" He remembered Poznan alright, a god-forsaken dump of an airport somewhere in Poland that they'd had to divert to after everything had gone wrong, the client, the cargo, the weather. A furious Carolyn had only been able to find two rooms at the local fleapit and although logic had suggested that the women share one room and the men the other, it had taken just one look shared between Douglas and Martin to confirm that, however annoyed they might be with each other, they were allies in needing to get away from a ferociously sarcastic Carolyn and an infuriatingly cheery Arthur.

"So you lay in the dark in that narrow bed less than a foot from mine and you.... Martin, you little minx!" Enough with the gentle coaxing, Douglas surged forward and sucked as much breast into his mouth as he could fit, roughly laving the pebbled nipple with his tongue, before moving on to torment the other one, all the while circling the saliva-slick nub of the first with his thumb.

Martin whimpered, her normally low voice now gratifyingly high. And at last her hands came to cling shakily to his shoulders before migrating up into his hair, burying themselves deeply in the thick strands. She was pulling him tightly against her now, pushing forward in a tight rhythm, fucking her tit into his mouth. Her thighs slid open, welcoming him in and he could smell her arousal, suddenly thick and musky around them.

"Chaps, mum just called." Arthur's voice came through the door. "She wants us off the stand in thirty minutes."

"Oh no... Douglas..." Martin tried to pull away from Douglas but he held her close.

"I doubt you need thirty minutes more, just trust me for a moment, darling."

" _Oh._ "

He felt her breath hitch at the unthinking endearment and he grinned to himself. Someone was clearly in dire need of a full Douglas Richardson pampering. He pulled back from her tit to look up at her, staring down at him with pale eyes huge in her slender face. "Tell me you're coming home with me tonight. Please."

She gave him a shaky nod. "Splendid!" He returned to an enthusiastic worshipping of her breast with his mouth, while running a hand up the inside of her leg and pressing gently against her pubic mound through her trousers. Just as he had suspected, a gentle rubbing was enough to tip her over the edge and she was pushing so hard against him that she slid right off the edge of her chair, tumbling down into his lap. He caught her mouth with his, swallowing down her delicious soft moans of climax as she shuddered against him and then holding her snugly as she sunk into the lassitude of the afterglow, running his hand gently up and down her spine as she buried her face in the crook of his neck.

At last she pulled back to look shyly at him, relaxed in a way he so seldom saw, loose-limbed and sexually sated - a very good look for her, in his opinion. "What about..." She waved a hand vaguely in his direction.

He grinned back as he reluctantly began to do up the buttons of her shirt. "Not with her ladyship about to storm up the steps. I'll just have to wait for us to get back to Fitton. If I seem to be squirming in my seat, you'll know it's all your fault. You and your utterly delightful little tits."

He couldn't help laughing when it turned out that, even post-orgasmic, she was capable of blushing. "Come on." He helped her back into her seat and then levered himself up, dusting off his knees. "That sounds like Carolyn stomping in. Pull yourself together while I distract her for a moment."

Martin quickly began to tuck the overlarge shirt into her uniform trousers, her sweet breasts sadly lost in the voluminous folds. "Douglas," she said hesitantly, looking up at him through her lashes, "ummm.... just.... thank you."

He smiled back at her as he unlocked the flightdeck door. "Sir, may I assure you that the pleasure was entirely mine!"

\- THE END -


End file.
